


Where The Love Light Beams

by Schwoozie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Christmas, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, One Shot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5450567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tree, a fire, a pile of blankets, an empty house, and someone to share it with—with the winter winds howling outside, Beth could ask for nothing more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where The Love Light Beams

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be Brick, but Daryl wormed his way in and he's here to stay. Thanks to Jackie for the idea.

Decorating the Christmas tree had been almost more exciting for Beth than Christmas itself, when she was younger. Watching her daddy pull the boxes down from the high shelf in the cupboard, set them one by one on the floor of the living room while Beth and Maggie and Shawn watched, wide-eyed, at the objects emerging before them. Tiny angels with bells on their wings. Globes glittering in red and green and gold. Tinsel and little wooden carvings that Daddy made when he was younger, that he would teach them all how to make, someday.

Beth had the tidiest hands and it was always her job to unfold the tissue cradling the ornaments; hand them up to Maggie or Shawn, whoever had shoved their way in first. She would watch, sitting cross-legged on the floor, as the tree that Daddy or Uncle Otis had cut down with his own hands became less a tree and more of a miracle—sparkling in the lamplight, tingling softly as ornaments rubbed together. When all the ornaments were out and Maggie and Shawn were arguing over how to place them, Beth would stay back, hugging her knees to her chest and watching the magic unfold before her. Sometimes her mother would be cooking gingerbread, or Daddy bringing in wood for the fire they used when money was tight. Sometimes it took hours for Maggie and Shawn to come to an agreement—but when that moment came and the room fell silent, Beth knew what to do. She'd step forward from her place by the couch, reach into the last box and pull out the angel, which Mama made herself when she was young—and with her father's hands under her armpits she would leap into the sky and place the angel on the top of the tree.

Maggie and Shawn would get bored shortly thereafter, wander off to steal corners of gingerbread when Mama's back was turned, but Beth always stayed, for a few minutes at least. Met eyes with the angel and whispered her Christmas wishes—that Mrs. Foley's cat would get through the winter, or for her mama to stop getting headaches, or that one day she would meet a prince charming and have a tree of her very own—and when she was done she would help her daddy clean up the boxes and put them away on their high shelf.

Not many of Beth's wishes came true. Bluebell died before the final frost; her mama's head grew heavier and heavier until it was too late for the doctors to do a thing; and she's old enough to know that Prince Charming is a story told to little girls so they have something happy to wish for in the days before Christmas.

Beth looks at the angel from where she huddles on the rug, draped in half the blankets in the house but still shivering as the fire builds behind the grate. Her family is gone—Maggie with Glenn, Daddy spending the weekend with some friends from his childhood—and she could swear the house echos with every crack of the flames. It's a few days before Christmas, and Beth is happy to housesit and tend the farm until her family gets back.

Not to say she has to do it alone.

She doesn't hear Daryl coming until he's already settling beside her, but it doesn't make her jump like it used to. She just smiles at him, taking both mugs of cocoa from his hands as he practically scrambles beneath the blankets, shuddering a little as he pulls them around his shoulders.

He used to not let her see him like this. Vulnerable, less than unaffected. That's something that's changed too.

“Cold?” Beth asks, handing Daryl back his mug and moving both hands to cradle hers, holding it through the sleeves of her sweater as it cools.

“Fuckin' yeah,” Daryl grumbles, setting the mug down so he can bury deeper, seeking, searching, and when he's peeled away enough folds that he can pull Beth tight against him she sighs deeply, letting her head drop to his shoulder. His arm curves around her body, sliding easily around her until his hand can cup her waist, large and strong.

“Don't feel cold,” Beth says, nuzzling at his collarbone.

“Nah, but you do.” She can see Daryl's frown out of the corner of her eye before he leans down and breathes across her nose, bringing up his free hand to rub it a little. “You're like ice, girl.”

Beth scrunches her face at him as his hand draws away. “Well, 'scuse me, Mr. Polar Bear. Ain't my fault someone took so long to get back here and warm me up.”

Daryl snorts, reaching for his cocoa and taking a tentative sip, scowling a little when it burns his tongue. “Ain't _my_ fault your hotplate don't work for shit.”

Beth elbows him softly, smiling when he grunts for her benefit. “Take it up with Daddy when you see him. Hotplate's his, not mine.”

Daryl grimaces. “You're still sure he ain't coming back tonight?”

“I'm _sure_ ,” Beth says. “C'mon. Maggie's had tons of guys over when Daddy wasn't home. Even if he caught us, what'd he do?”

“You ain't Maggie and I ain't some guy, Beth.” Daryl shifts a little so his thigh is pressed more tightly to hers; she can feel the heat of him through both layers of their flannel pajamas. “The man ain't even met me yet.”

“He's gonna in a few days anyway.” Beth blows across her mug, breathing in deeply before taking a sip. It's just the right side of burning, and she licks her lips before sipping again. She hums in satisfaction, looking up at Daryl. “See? You got that hotplate working just fine.” Her smile falters a little when she sees he still looks troubled. She sighs and sets the mug down beside her, rooting around in the blankets until she finds his thigh. “It's gonna be fine, Daryl,” she says. “I love you. He knows I love you. He's gonna love you too.” Daryl snorts, and Beth squeezes his thigh. “I promise, ok?”

“Don't make promises you can't keep, girl.” There's still a heaviness to his expression, but at least his eyebrows aren’t pulled down so tight; he turns and kisses her forehead, rubs his nose against her scalp and breathes her in. “You're using that new lotion, huh?”

“Yeah. You like it?”

“Mmmh.” Daryl noses at her for a few more moments before turning and leaning his cheek against her, looking with her into the fire. She'd sat on the porch while he chopped the wood. It was in the single digits outside, but he'd stripped down to his undershirt to get through the exertion, and that kept her warm as anything. “Just don't be surprised when he sees me and goes right for the shotgun.”

Beth rolls her eyes. “You're such a drama queen, Daryl.”

“Rather be a drama queen than have a shell in my ass.”

Beth giggles. She can feel the edge of his smile where his cheek rests against her. “Well, we'll do our best to keep you from being either, huh?”

“Mmmh.”

“ _Mmmh_ ,” Beth mimics, yelping when Daryl pinches her side. She pulls back so she can see him. There are some teeth in his smile now. He looks altogether too pleased with himself. “Well, _that_ was uncalled for.”

“Gotta keep you in line somehow.”

His hand on her waist has found the hem of her sweater and his fingers begin to edge beneath it, brushing softly against her skin. Beth shivers again, but not from the cold.

She reaches for her hot cocoa and moves it further aside. She can feel Daryl watching her from the corner of his eye, but she ignores him in favor of snuggling back into his side. He sips at his hot cocoa, and she's close enough that she can feel the movements of his throat as it goes down. She's heating up, from the fire and the blankets and him, and still his fingers are wandering deeper beneath her sweater. She waits for him to set his mug down before moving her hand further up his thigh.

He freezes when she finds him—soft and curved against his leg, a familiar shape beneath her palm as she rubs him gently, as if it were just another part of his limb. A sweet pulse has begun to gather between her legs, and when she turns to him she finds him looking at her too.

“Then who's gonna keep _you_ in line, Mr. Dixon?”

He doesn't say anything, but his hand begins moving against her side again, with a little more pressure, and the light the fire throws on his narrowing eyes makes them spark.

Beth rests her palm against the thickest part of him. She can feel his heartbeat there as the blood rushes to his cock, and her cheeks flush with the knowledge that this is all it takes; pressed against his side, hardly touching skin to skin, fronts heated by the fire and backs freezing from the cold and Daryl getting hard beneath her touch.

His hand is all the way beneath her sweater now, and Beth bites her lip at how warm and rough it is, skating its calluses up and down her side. He leans further into her so he can reach her stomach; digs his index finger into her belly button until she giggles.

“Daryl, stop,” she says, but it comes out more of a breath than a sentence; he smirks and she's about to stick her tongue out at him when he leans over and begins kissing her neck.

Beth's head falls back like it's been released from a string, moaning softly as he works her with his lips and his teeth. Beth squeezes him in approval and he groans, sucking hard at her skin and pulling her in almost painfully, wiggling his other hand out of the blankets until it can come up and cup her cheek, position her head the way he wants it.

“Still can't believe I get to touch you, girl,” he says against her throat, lifting his thigh a little to be sure she doesn't forget about him. And she hasn't; she leans into his heat and closes her eyes and gives him a sure stroke, up and down, and she can only imagine the contrast between the flannel on one side of his dick and the skin of his thigh on the other.

“You aren't touching me much yet,” Beth says breathlessly, taking the hand against her cheek in hers and leading it down to join the other on her body.

Daryl snorts even as his dick jumps when he has both hands on her skin, and he gives her a squeeze and a nibble with his teeth before pressing his weight into her and sending them both to the floor.

“Daryl!” Beth squeals, her hand falling from his crotch as he shifts around above her, growling a little as the blankets twist around them and impede his movements. Beth shivers as a gust of air rolls across her bared stomach and suddenly he's _there_ , body heavy between her thighs and flannel not feeling thick at all as his dick finds her core. He kisses her neck hotly as he slides both hands beneath her sweater again, pausing to give her breasts a squeeze before tugging the sweater against her armpits.

“Off,” he grunts.

“I'm gonna freeze to death,” she says even as she complies, lifting her arms until her sweater's over her head and off and he doesn't even bother to pull her ponytail out before he's moved down her body to lap at her nipple. “Oh Jesus.”

He groans as he pulls the bud between his lips, sucking it into painful hardness.

“You been hiding these from me all night, girl?” he asks, rubbing across the neglected nipple with his thumb. “These hard little tits?”

“It's cold,” Beth says, bringing her thighs up around his hips and trying to use her feet to push his pajama pants down. “Can't believe your thing's as big as it is–“ Daryl raises his head, smirking. Beth rolls her eyes and shoves at his pants more insistently. “Can you just c'mon and fuck me now?”

“Can say fuck but ya can't say dick?” Daryl says, finally taking mercy on her and dragging his pants down, leaving them around his ankles so he can attend to her, then all it takes is his shirts and they're pressed skin to skin, panting now at all the friction their fumbling gave them.

“I'm trying, ok?” Beth says, spreading her hands across his broad back as he lowers his head to her nipple again, sucking softly. “I was taught to speak like a lady, you know?”

“Yeah, your dad's definitely gonna kill me,” Daryl says, and slips a hand between her thighs.

They both groan at the contact and Beth spreads her legs wider, the blankets falling off one of her knees as she arches into him, holding his head to her breast as her other hand goes to join him below. She loves doing this—feeling how big his hand is against her pussy, how she's so wet that the slick squeezes between his fingers to soak through hers. He rubs her with the flat of his palm, pressing until her clit catches between her own folds and she gives a small cry.

“Fuckin' soaked for me,” Daryl growls, giving her nipple one last lick before kissing his way up her chest and throat and licking heavily into her mouth. Beth hums her appreciation, twining her tongue with his and sneaking one of her fingers between his to test his words—and he's right, Christ, the rug under her ass is already damp and her finger drags wetly up her stomach as he pushes it away so he has room enough to grind into her clit while sinking a finger inside. Beth whimpers, detaching from his mouth and dropping her head to the carpet as she arches, running one hand across his back as she grasps her own breast with the other, feeling those delicious flames licking at her skin. “Fuck, girl,” he whispers, “You're fuckin' ready for two, huh? I barely even got inside you.”

“Wanna do something instead of talking about it?” She hasn't even finished speaking before he's thrust another finger inside of her, pumping steadily until she's beyond speech; all she can do is clench her cunt around him and reach down between them to take hold of his dick where it drags against her thigh.

For a moment he too seems speechless, thrusting into her fist in time with his own pumps, dragging liquid out of both of them.

“I want you in me, Daryl, please,” Beth breathes, tugging his cock in the direction of her cunt until his pre-cum is smearing across the back of his own hand.

“Lemme give you one first,” Daryl rumbles, curling his fingers inside of her until he has her arching again. He shifts his hand a little to bare her clit and then she feels the spongy head of his dick right against it. She whines as he lets her control the stimulation, moving his hips in time with her hand, giving her his own cock to get herself off. “C'mon, Beth, fuckin' come for me, come on–“

Beth's toes curl—they literally curl—as the orgasm rushes through her, and she'd stopped being embarrassed by the noises she makes around him, but Christ, this one—a grunt that surges into a whine so high her voice breaks as she clutches Daryl harder, by the dick and by the hips and by the fingers he's dragging out of her to make room for his cock as it slides inside.

And then he stills. They both still, save the post-orgasm spasms in her cunt as her climax dies away. They only involve those muscles deep inside her, but with his cock there to clench around they seem to vibrate through her whole body. She crosses her legs loosely just below his ass as he adjusts the blankets, pulling them up and around the two of them until they hang like a cape from Daryl's shoulders. The fire and the blankets and the body covering hers have Beth sweating, and she's about to ask Daryl to push the blankets away when he looks at her—and even the muscles of her cunt seem to shudder to a stop. He's just far enough away that she can see his whole face—jaw so lax it appears unhinged, mouth hanging open behind spit-shined lips; the scruff on his cheeks that casts shadows where the firelight hits it, the tips of the hairs tinged with gold; his eyes, locked onto hers, unmoving and unblinking as his hips give their first roll.

Beth clenches again, eyes on their way to closing when she feels a hand on her cheek. She looks at Daryl, still rocking into her slowly; barely more than clenching and unclenching his glutes, but she still feels every millimeter of him as he moves inside her. She looks at him, a question in her eyes, and his hand slides from her cheek and into her hair, teasing the ponytail loose until her hair lies fanned around them, and he can twine his fingers through the strands as he cups her skull. She's still looking at him when he looks down again, and the kiss he presses to her lips is as fleeting as the tremble of his hips.

“Easy,” he murmurs, going down to his elbows so they lie chest-to-chest, the blankets draping even more closely around their bodies. He's a big man and she's a small woman, and she always feels covered when they fuck in this position; but with the blankets and the heat and him almost still inside her, she feels _cocooned_ —like he's spent days weaving a lattice of silk to twine around the curves of her body, caressing her like a million tiny hands. She feels him touching her, touching her everywhere, even places where skin doesn't meet skin, and she hardly even notices when her body goes limp.

He does, though, humming in approval as he sinks even closer to her, wrapping his free hand in her hair along with the other. Beth breathes, slow and deep, letting the stream of air caress his mouth before his lips even meet hers.

“Easy, girl,” he says, and he slides out half his length before sinking back in slowly, breathing across her face as he does. “Easy.”

He fucks her in time with their breaths; sliding and sinking, sliding and sinking, until she gets tired of lying there passively and begins moving her hips with him, making him grunt the first time they meet in the middle. They don't change the rhythm, though; move now in a slow, undulating curve, breaths bursting out in little puffs every time they come together.

And he's watching her—eyes sparking, lashes fluttering, pupils blown as he rests his forehead against hers and holds her head as she buries her fingers in his hair, brushes it away from his face and holds it back so the fire casts its shadows across his cheekbones, warms them both.

“Daryl,” Beth whispers, not closing her eyes, barely to blink, “Daryl, I'm close.”

“I know, girl,” he murmurs, kissing her lips, kissing her cheek, circling his hips until she gasps and tightens her legs around him. Sweat beads on his cheek and transfers to hers as he leans farther to kiss her neck, drop little kitten licks that make her bones shake. “Come for me, sweetheart, come on.”

She hardly knows where it comes from. All they're doing is this slow, maddening rocking, a rub back and forth that hardly stimulates her clit and doesn't come close to her g-spot—but he's around her. Surrounding her, inside her, thick arms wrapped like bandages around her head as he tucks her into his shoulder, quickening his pace, close to something too, sinking into her body and staying there even as he pulls away to sink again.

_Come for me._

It builds and builds and spills through her body like a river of molten honey; a shiver more than a spasm that vibrates through her muscles and down to her bones in a soft cascade that draws no noise but leaves her breathless, clutching at Daryl uselessly as he pulls out and spills across her stomach.

There's nothing for a bit. Their heavy breaths, less than pants, the crackle of the fire and the wind as it moans outside. Beth breathes deep and even through the wood and the wool and the musk and the walls, she smells the storm that's coming.

It will probably knock some fences around and scare the pigs, but she can worry about that tomorrow; now, she focuses on nothing else but the space between their bodies as Daryl cleans them off with his undershirt; rolls bonelessly to her side when he nudges her shoulder, lifts her head long enough for him to slip his arm beneath it. His bicep is hard and thick and she sighs as the other comes to lie across her front, pulling her back into him as he palms her breast, pulls her close. The press of his softening cock is sweet and warm, and she wiggles back against it just to make him clutch her tighter.

“Careful, girl,” he growls, but without heat; she doesn't expect any. There is warmth, though; warmth overflowing.

She smiles as she shuffles, snuggling into him more innocently as he draws the blankets closer around them before returning to her breast—doing nothing more than holding it, like it's a piece of her heart that's dropped through her skin.

Beth sighs and opens her eyes. She can feel him falling asleep behind her, even as he snuffles at her neck through her hair. She's just this side of too warm, but it doesn't matter; she wouldn't pull away from him for the world.

“Love you,” she whispers.

All he gives her back is a grunt, but she knows. She knows.

Her eyelids flutter as they drift across the room. The fire, slowly burning itself away; the tree, lit by the flames and throwing light off its crystals and its spheres, the ornaments Beth wasn't home to help hang this year, the ornaments Shawn hasn't hung for a decade. But it's alright. Maggie was here, and Daddy, and they'll be back in a few days and they'll bake gingerbread that she can feed to Daryl as his cheeks turn red.

He's snoring softly into the nape of her neck, face buried in her hair, hand still warm against her, heart pounding into her back in a slow, steady beat. She feels it, and she lulls. The last sight she has before falling asleep is the angel, far away on top of the tree, watching over all of them.

It's too far, too dark to say for sure; but Beth could swear it's smiling.

 


End file.
